


iii. gaming

by foundCarcosa



Series: 3o Days of Sebsino [3]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 01:43:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian challenges Orsino with a bottle of mead.<br/>(This was just a clever, smutty way to avoid writing them playing Wicked Grace.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	iii. gaming

"What--? Sebastian!"

Sebastian only laughs at Orsino's chiding, a merry sound, a sound suited to a tavern -- and not the Hanged Man, not anything in Lowtown, but a proper tavern, with oiled tables and a lute player and plump, jocular serving wenches.  
Orsino thinks he can see the fineness of Starkhaven through the sound, but this is nothing new -- he sees Starkhaven in the particular glow Sebastian's skin takes on in the right lighting, or in the purring huskiness of his voice when they are alone, or in the sneaky, familiar way he slips his hand under the mage's robes when they're not.

Tonight, he sees it in Sebastian's throaty laughter as a bottle of Antivan amber appears from under the Chantry rogue's vestments. Mead, and good mead, gleaming in the candelight as it takes its place in the centre of Orsino's desk.

"What are you doing? You're not supposed to..."

"Drink? Laugh? Make merry? Make _love?" A wicked man,_ the grand cleric calls Sebastian when he is teasing her, but she doesn't truly mean it. Only the first enchanter knows the truth of it, and he is not telling.

Behind the bookshelf on the left, the one with the solitary sprig of Andraste's Grace in a narrow crystalline vase, the wall gives way to unlit stairs. Sebastian doesn't need light -- he's been into these chambers many times before, often alone, often on cats' paws, slipping into the bedroom to slide between the sheets and pull Orsino into his embrace.  
Tonight, they both descend, quickly, into the place that was once the first enchanter's alone.

"You have grown complacent with your blood-coloured wines of... dubious vintage," Sebastian declares, stripping out of the heavier overcoat. He is on the bed in moments, legs crossed and shoulders against the simple headboard. Behind the corners of that single piece of wood are small dents in the wall, that weren't there when the place was Orsino's alone. "I bring you the nectar of nobility. The panacea of prudence. The... ah, sod it."

By the time Orsino strips to his breeches and takes his place beside Sebastian, the bottle is already open. They don't need tankards -- they swig from the bottle itself, passing it back and forth, Orsino's shoulder snug against Sebastian's and the rest of his body flushing with envy of it.

"Let's make a game of it," the rogue whispers, and the tip of Orsino's ear twitches at the gust of sweet-scented breath. "I bet you will be drunker than I."

"Have you forgotten that I am older--" Sebastian's rich chuckle brooks no debate.

They drink, and as the bottle gets lighter Orsino gets sloppier, and Sebastian leans over and licks the honeyed drops from his chin and bottom lip, and the surge of want is overwhelming enough that he snatches at Sebastian's hair and crushes their lips together, and when Sebastian pulls the mage on top of him the last of the mead spills onto his chest and the under-robe he'd already begun wriggling out of, and Orsino's head might have already been swimming but he licks every last drop from that flushed, tantalising flesh--

"You... you've lost," Sebastian murmurs, voice tinged with something like amusement, but a moment later he's forgotten he'd even spoken, his hand convulsing in thin silver-grey hair and his hips surging upward.

They are more drunk on the taste of each other than the taste of spiced honey-wine, later, legs tangled and chests heaving, their mouths lazy and sloppy whenever they meet, their groans still echoing in each other's ears.

"I won," Orsino mumbles when Sebastian is teetering on the threshold of unconsciousness.  
The rogue never argues otherwise.


End file.
